White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) by Samantha Christy Read Free Book Online Page A

be stylish and chic. Two words I’ve never associated with pregnancy, but whatever.
    Coming from the bathroom after washing up, I see Erin walking through the restaurant. She’s holding two flowers. A red rose and some white flower. It’s an orchid or lily, or maybe a tulip. I don’t know much about flowers. As soon as any man presents me with them, it’s my cue to bail and run like hell. The only flowers I know about are the fake ones we keep on the tables at the restaurant.
    She approaches me with her arms outstretched, holding the flowers out to me, one in each hand. A bright smile curls her lips. “Pick one,” she says.
    “Why?” I ask, skeptically. “Is this a test?”
    She smiles in silence.
    I try to analyze what she’s asking me to do. The rose is the obvious choice. It’s the flower of love, the go-to flower for pretty much any occasion. The one most women would probably select. The white one reminds me of Easter. Or maybe funerals. I’m not sure which, but I like it. It brings back memories of the field behind our house growing up. The house that is now Baylor’s house. Piper, Baylor and I would run around in that field for hours playing hide-and-seek, and then we’d pick the pretty white flowers to bring to my mom.
    She giggles. “Just pick one, Skylar,” she says, rolling her eyes at my hesitation.
    I reach for the white one. I never did like to conform.
    She pulls me in for a hug. “Oh my gosh, we’re having a boy!” she cries.
    I let her hug me. I’ve gotten used to her hugs by now. Sometimes I even hug her back, because let’s be honest, it’s the only real human affection I’ve had in almost six months.
    And dammit, I’m horny. The vomit phase of this pregnancy has morphed into the insatiable phase. As in, I swear blood is being pumped to my lower half, causing my clit to swell at very inopportune times. Yesterday, I actually had an orgasm riding the stationary bike. All the vibrations from pedaling . . . I didn’t even bother to stop riding. I just reached down and pushed myself over the edge, slowing my progress momentarily as I squirmed around on the seat.
    Last Sunday at brunch, when Griffin leaned over, brushing Erin’s hair behind her ear to whisper something, I almost combusted at the table. I imagined what it would feel like with his hot breath flowing over my neck as he whispered into my ear. I actually had to get up from the table and go relieve myself in the public bathroom.
    I’ve become very proficient at silent orgasms.
    “A boy?” I ask, eyeing the flower in my hand.
    She pulls me over to an empty table and sits me down. “It’s an old wives tale,” she explains. “You present a pregnant woman with a white lily and a red rose. If she chooses the rose, she’s having a girl. If she chooses the lily, a boy.” She gestures to the flower I’m holding. “And white lilies just happen to be my favorite flowers, so that’s an added bonus.”
    “Hmmm,” I mumble. “Kind of a girly flower for a boy, don’t you think?”
    “Actually, Greek mythology holds the lily as a symbol of eroticism and sexuality, the long pistil of the flower suggesting a phallus.”
    “So you think the bean has a long pistol, huh?” I tease.
    “If genetics play a factor, a very long pistol.”
    Oh, hell . The last thing I need to know is how well-endowed Griffin is. My mouth waters as if the aroma of another cheeseburger had been floated under my nose. I can already feel the blood rushing downward.
    “Uh, Erin,” I say. “I really don’t want to hear about your husband’s phallus.”
    She laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me up and leading me out the door. “Okay, no more talk of Griffin’s incredible man member or his expertise where it’s concerned. Let’s go shop.”
    Oh, God, she did not just say that . I swear it’s like she can read my mind and is deliberately making an effort to feed my atrociously inappropriate fantasies. Maybe she’s trying to torture me because she